


Let There Be Lips

by the_deep_magic



Category: Actor RPF, Star Trek RPF
Genre: Blow Jobs, Costume Kink, Crack, Crossdressing, Drag Queen, First Time, Food, M/M, Makeup, Making Out
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-04-24
Updated: 2010-04-24
Packaged: 2017-10-19 10:11:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,197
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/199710
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_deep_magic/pseuds/the_deep_magic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Reboot cast + Rocky Horror = fun for the whole family.  Oh, and Zach and Chris make googly eyes at each other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Let There Be Lips

**Author's Note:**

> Now with bonus epilogue! And check out the end note for a link to super-awesome fanart.

Zach climbs out of his Prius, balancing effortlessly on his favorite shoes.  He doesn’t get to wear them out very often, but they’ll fit right in tonight.  But no matter how long he wears them, they still rub a little on the heel; as he walks up to Zoe’s front door, he reminds himself to ask Zoe for some Band-aids in case it gets worse later on.

Six-inch heels can be such a _bitch_.

“Oh, goddamnit, Karl,” Zach hears John say as he opens the front door a few minutes later.  He looks over and sees both men clad in nearly identical slacks, shirts, and glasses – it appears they have duplicate Brads on their hands.

Zoe bursts out laughing, the sparkly gold hat in danger of falling off her head.  “I thought we settled this.  Now you’re just going to have to fight over our lovely Janet.”

“Did I hear my name?” lilts Anton in a pretty convincing falsetto.  Zach shakes his head sadly – the dress fits Anton atrociously, he’s wearing flip-flops, and the blonde wig is about to fall off his head.  The Gods of Drag are _not_ pleased.  He tows Anton toward the guest bathroom to engage in some much needed touch-ups only to find it locked.  He bangs on the door.

“FUCK OFF!” issues from inside the bathroom in a familiar tone.

“It’s Chris,” says Anton, who despite his shabby appearance has not dropped the falsetto.  “He locked himself in there when Zoe showed him his costume.”

“WHAT FUCKING COSTUME?” Chris bellows from offstage left.  “THIS IS NOT A COSTUME.  THIS IS SEXUAL HARRASSMENT, AND I DON’T HAVE TO FUCKING TAKE IT!”

Zach cocks an eyebrow at Anton.  “Is he talking about what I think he’s talking about?”

Anton shrugs.  “It was that or Eddie, but I thought we’d talked Karl into being Eddie after Eric bailed on us.”

“Well, obviously he didn’t get the message.  Now how are we going to get Chris out of the bathroom?”

“WE ARE NOT GOING TO GET CHRIS OUT OF THE BATHROOM.  CHRIS LIKES THE BATHROOM.  CHRIS IS CONSIDERING TAKING UP PERMANENT RESIDENCE AND HAVING HIS MAIL FORWARDED TO THE BATHROOM.”

Anton sighs loudly, somehow managing to make it sound bitchy.  “Chris, you’re the only one who can pull that look off, and that’s not something to complain about.”

“He’s right,” Zach says into the door.  “And you know how much I hate to agree with Anton.”

“Hey!” Anton shrieks, stomping off down the hall and leaving Zach clutching the ratty wig.

“Chris,” Zach says in a soothing tone, “we’re all wearing embarrassing costumes.  That’s kind of the point.”

“Nuh-uh,” Chris says, and Zach can barely hear him, but at least he’s stopped shouting.  “John’s wearing regular clothes and Zoe looks cute and even Anton gets an actual dress to wear.  Are you wearing a dress, too?”

Zach spares a glance down at his fishnets, held up rather precariously by the black garter belt.  It’s so hard to find these things in his size.  “Um, not exactly.  How is it that you’ve never seen this movie, anyway?”

“Because I spent my nights and weekends in college engaged in scholarly pursuits.”

“Lying isn’t going to get us anywhere.”  Zach is met with silence.  “Look, no one is going to _make_ you wear anything.  And you can put something over it on the way to and from the theatre.”

“Everyone’s gonna laugh at me.”

“How old are you, twelve?  Trust me, laughter is not going to be anyone’s first response.  Not even in the top five, I promise you.”

“How do you know?”

“I just… I _know_.  It’ll be fun – it’s all in the spirit of the movie.  It’s the whole Rocky Horror experience, and embarrassingly revealing costumes are a part of that.”

Zach hears a loud, put-upon groan.  “I’ll think about it, okay?” Chris says.

“Okay, but think quickly.  We’re still waiting for Simon, but when he gets here, you need to come out, alright?”

As if on cue, the doorbell rings.  “I’ll be right back,” Zach says.

Sure enough, it’s Simon, making such a convincing Riff Raff that Zach’s sure he’s had the costume hanging around in his closet for years.

“Gang’s all here,” says John, eyes still shooting daggers at Karl.  “Let’s go.”

“Is Chris out of the bathroom yet?” Zoe asks, and Zach shakes his head.

“I’ve been working on him, but he’s still going to need a few minutes.”

“We haven’t got a few minutes,” whines Simon, impatient despite his late arrival.  “We’ve got to get there in time for the deflowering.  Karl and Chris must have the full experience.”

A strange silence settles over the group, and in that silence they hear the creak of a door being opened, then bare feet padding down the hall.  All eyes turn in the direct of the soft sound.

Chris is absolutely, gloriously naked.  Well, practically naked – the gold lamé thong really isn’t hiding anything.  _Anything_.  Zach tries to keep his eyes focused on Chris’ miserable face, but his gaze is drawn inevitably down, past broad shoulders and hard pecs, past the fine trail of hair adorning his flat belly, even past narrow hips to strong thighs and then back up again to…  Maybe Chris is right.  He can’t go out like this – it’ll cause traffic accidents, plane crashes, possibly a slight case of Armageddon.  Definitely illicit activities in Zach’s garter belt area.  Anton makes a little choking sound, Simon gives the thumbs-up, and Zoe and Karl both swear softly.

All Zach can say is, “Oh, _Rocky_.”

&&&

Once they’re all crammed in John’s SUV, Zach starts explaining the finer points of Rocky Horror etiquette to Chris and Karl.  And Chris is honestly trying to listen, but he’s a bit more focused on trying to figure out how exactly Zach has folded himself origami-like into the back seat.  He’s all legs and arms anyway, and with the heels and fishnets there just seems to be even more of him, all twisted up like some sadistic yoga pose that should be painful but Zach makes it look completely natural.

It’s fucking distracting.

“Let’s start with the basics,” he says.  “Whenever anyone says ‘Janet Weiss’—”

“SLUT!” comes from the front seat in the combined voices of John and Simon.

“—you yell ‘Slut!’  And whenever anyone says ‘Brad’—”

“ASSHOLE!”

“Yes, thank you, peanut gallery.”

Chris is still a little lost.  “And people just yell this out right in the middle of the movie?”

Zoe leans over the middle seat.  “People don’t go to this to follow the intricate plot.  For the most part, everyone’s seen the movie a zillion times.  The fun is in the audience participation.”

“Oh, okay,” mutters Chris, just for something to say.  “And who are you again?”

“I’m Columbia.  I’m a groupie.”

“A groupie for what?”

“Me!” says Zach proudly, his grin turned almost demonic by the smear of bright red lipstick.  In the shifting light in the car, Chris only gets occasional glimpses of Zach’s face, and all the makeup is making him look some combination of ridiculous, evil, and disturbingly sexy.  Chris tries to pull the robe – borrowed from Zoe – a little tighter around himself, but all he succeeds in doing is elbowing Karl in the ribs.

At the theatre, they pile out of the minivan like so many X-rated clowns from a clown car.  Chris makes the split second decision to stick close to Zach – sure, Chris is wearing a fluffy pink bathrobe, but Zach’s wearing sparkly platform heels, a garter belt/black briefs combo, some sort of vest thing, and… not much else.  And he is _working_ those heels, hips swaying with every step like Heidi fucking Klum, and Chris was absolutely right – no one’s sparing him a glance at all, not with six-and-a-half feet of depraved transvestite perfection walking next to him.

Zach is drinking it in, too, returning every stare with a lewd glance and an air kiss, the occasional wave of his feather boa.  They all make it into the theatre, where Chris goes to stand in line at the concession booth only to notice he’s lost the rest of his group.

“C’mon,” says John, noticing Chris has fallen behind.

“I’ll meet you inside.  I want some popcorn.”

John groans loudly.  “You don’t eat popcorn at Rocky Horror!”

“What?  Why not?”  But Chris never gets his question answered, as John merely grabs him by the fluffy pink sleeve and yanks him toward the rest of the group.

Inside, the theatre looks like a riot zone.  Some people are dressed as characters, most people are barely dressed, and the noise is at jet-engine levels.  John seems to know a few people toward the back, so they all fight their way up the stairs to a group of empty seats.

Chris is ready to plop down and happily watch the movie in the dark when a loud voice booms out from near the front of the theatre and somehow manages to get most of the crowd to shut up.  “May I have everyone’s attention please?”  A few stragglers remain talking.  “QUIET, BITCHES!”  It’s a big, burly guy in a black curly wig, a green surgical gown, and obscenely pink rubber gloves, not to mention a metric shit-ton of makeup.  Chris spares a moment to wonder if they should all be taking orders from a man who looks like an escaped mental patient.

“Do we have any Virgins in the house?”

There’s a lot of yelling, a few shyly raised hands, and even more hands forcibly raised by the person sitting next to them.  Zach grabs Chris’ hand and yanks it into the air.

“What the fuck, Zach?  Do you think I was lying to you about all those girls?”

“About three-quarters of them, yes.  But this is about you being a Rocky Horror Virgin.”

“Oh,” says Chris lamely, noting that John is raising Karl’s hand as well.

“Get all your innocent little asses up here!” yells the man at the front, practically squealing with delight.  Chris and Karl exchange looks of Very Manly Trepidation, but then they’re both getting pushed from behind by John and yanked forward by Zoe, who drags them nearly the full length of the aisle before letting them go.   She turns Chris to face her, and he’s expecting some words of comfort when she yanks the tie on the bathrobe, strips him of the pink material, and shoves him into the knot of extremely nervous looking “virgins” milling around at the front of the aisle.

He moves to go after her with a “What the actual fuck?” on his lips, but Karl obviously is not about to be left alone.  After a little manhandling by the guy with the rubber gloves and his minions, the Virgins are all lined up across the front of the theatre, facing a disturbingly quiet and expectant audience.  Chris and Karl are at the far left of the line, and both sigh with relief when the de facto emcee starts with the poor sap at the other end.

“Hello, darling,” he purrs to the nervous but excited looking girl beside him.  “What’s your name, my dear?”

“Kristi!” she squeaks.

“Oh, don’t be frightened, Kristi.  I’ll be gentle.  Am I to understand you’re a Rocky Horror Virgin?”

She nods quickly, dyed-pink pigtails shaking.

“Well, we certainly can’t have that.  So here’s what I’m going to need you to do, Kristi.  We want to hear you come.  Not just any old orgasm, mind you.  No, these good people deserve the best, loudest, toe-curlingest orgasm you’ve got in you.  Think you can do that?”  The girl’s face is as pink as her hair now, but she nods a little.  The emcee grins.  “Then come for us, darling.”

She does, with an unexpectedly robust series of grunts and moans that have the audience in stitches, then applauding wildly when she’s done.  The emcee moves on to the next guy in line, then the next.  Most of them play it for laughs, the big guys screeching in ever-higher yelps, one shouting out Sarah Palin’s name, and the audience groans and laughs in equal measures.  A few people are too embarrassed to do more than give a sad little squeak or two, and the emcee tortures them for a few moments before moving on.  One girl gives a surprisingly authentic performance, and Chris has to position his hands discreetly in front of him and concentrate very hard on a wad of chewed, probably disease-ridden gum on the floor to keep from embarrassing himself in his “costume.”

By the time the emcee gets to Karl, the audience is shrieking with laughter.  And Karl gives them a show – Chris is never going to let him live it down.  If he had a tape recorder on him, he’d find a way to make it his ringtone.  The emcee is impressed, too, and grabs a generous handful of Karl’s backside as he’s taking his bow.

The wide, lewd grin on the emcee’s face freezes when he turns to Chris, looking him up and down.  He waits for the audience’s applause to die down, then swings around to address them.  “Ladies,” he says, and there’s no mistaking the sass in his voice.  “Looks like the gods have blessed us with a special treat tonight.”  He turns back to Chris.  “What’s your name, beautiful?”

“Um, Chris.”

“Well, Umchris, we’re gonna have a little bit of fun with you tonight.”  He waves a hand at the line of people still standing in the front.  “The rest of you sluts can have a seat.  We’re finished with you now – the money’s on the dresser.”  The audience cheers again for the former virgins and Chris shoots a _help me!_ look at Karl, who merely shrugs sympathetically as he heads back to his seat.  Oh, Karl will pay dearly for that one.

The emcee drags Chris into the center of the room where the lighting is better, and the applause turns into whistles and catcalls.  “Ladies, please,” says the emcee, “don’t frighten him – it’s his first time.  Though something tells me you won’t have much trouble performing, will you, sugar?”  He runs his gloved finger down the center of Chris’ chest and Chris’ improv instincts kick in.  He can’t feel embarrassed anymore – he’s in his element.

“Never have before,” he says with a lewd grin, and the emcee clamps his hand over his chest, miming a heart attack.

“Slow down, baby, you’ll kill me before we’ve even begun.  Now, how’d you like to show all these good people exactly how you sound in the throes of passion?”  Chris grins, but the emcee places a finger across his lips as a woman in a French maid’s outfit darts up to whisper in his ear.  “Wait – I have a better idea.”  He scampers over to the side of the stage and starts digging through a giant pink tote bag, re-emerging with a king-size Snickers bar in hand.  This cannot be good.

“Chris, babydoll, we’re gonna test a theory.  My dear friend Magenta over there—” he nods toward the maid “—thinks that, with lips like yours, you must be a fucking genius at giving head.”

Chris shrugs.  “I’m not one to brag,” he says lightly, beginning to wonder if playing along is actually going to get him out of this any easier.

It would seem not.  The audience is hooting with laughter and the emcee mock-faints, but quickly recovers and starts unwrapping the candy bar.  He holds it up to face level and turns toward the audience.  “Who here wants to see Chris give this Snickers the time of its life?”

The audience is obviously in a supportive mood.  Knowing exactly how red his face must be, Chris turns toward the candy bar, which the emcee is helpfully holding up for him, sticks out his tongue, and circles the tip of it around the exposed end of the chocolate.  The audience goes wild, and thus emboldened, Chris runs the flat of his tongue up the underside, then engulfs the candy bar in his mouth.

The thing is, Chris is an actor at heart.  He’ll tell you that he does it because he loves it, and that even if no one was watching him, he would still want to do what he does.  And all this is true, but what’s also true is that an audience makes his art _so_ much more meaningful.  Which is really the only reason Chris takes the other end of the Snickers bar from the emcee’s hand, tilts his head back, and, breathing deeply through his nose, slowly inches the chocolate down his throat.

The theatre goes wild for the first few inches, but after a moment it’s down to near dead silence.  If Chris could laugh, he would.  It lasts until Chris pulls the candy back out, and then the room _explodes_ with laughter and applause.  He pastes on a shit-eating grin and takes a big bite out of the Snickers, only stumbling back a little when the emcee launches himself at Chris and plants a loud, wet kiss on his lips and proposes marriage.  Chris takes a bow and a smack on the ass, then humbly heads back up the aisle to his seat.

When he gets back to his friends, the lights are already starting to dim, but he catches the faces of John, Simon, Anton, and Karl still distorted with raucous laughter.  They stand in stark opposition to the dropped jaws of Zach and Zoe, probably – Chris thinks – because those are the only two of the group who have actually given blowjobs before.  He smirks and slides back into his seat next to Zach.

“What.  The.  Fuck.” says Zach, pinning Chris in place with his eyes.

“What, never seen a man enjoy some candy before?”

Zach starts to sputter, but the film is starting and the theatre’s being taken over by the chant of “LIPS!  LIPS!  LIPS!  LIPS!” so Zach has to settle for mouthing _this isn’t over_ before turning to the screen and getting into the movie.

&&&

Later, when they’re all crammed into a corner booth at Denny’s, Chris – once again wrapped in the pink robe – is shoveling an omelet into his mouth in the manner of a man who did _not_ just over two hours ago deep throat a Snickers bar in front of a theatre full of people, including his friends and co-stars.  Zach has no idea what a man who did such a thing would look like, but it is surely not the casual demeanor of Chris, who just politely asks the waitress for more ketchup as if ketchup were a condiment to be eaten with eggs.  Which it is not.  Which is yet another sign that all is not right in the universe.

Zach is currently squashed between Zoe and Anton, and he’s trying to talk to Zoe without anyone else overhearing.  It’s not working so well.

“Did you know Chris liked… _chocolate_?” he asks out of the side of his mouth.

“Had no idea,” Zoe replies, trying to hide her mouth behind her cheeseburger.  “Though he was pretty exclusively into, um, _vanilla_?  Yes, vanilla.”

“No, he’s definitely into vanilla.  Unless he’s been systematically lying to me for several years about his experiences with… _dessert_ , he likes vanilla, too.”

“Never would’ve thought he was a _swirl_ kind of guy.”

“I don’t know, looking back I can see some definite chocoholic tendencies.”  Zach sighs, stabbing halfheartedly at his pancakes.  “God, this is a terrible metaphor.”

Zoe shoots him a sideways look.  “You’re the one that started it.  Y’know, before tonight, I would’ve sworn you were just on the lookout for chocoholism because you wanted to see it.”

“Yes, well, after tonight it would seem I am gloriously vindicated.  _Gloriously_ , Zoe.”

“And now I take it you’re going to offer him some of your… Hershey’s kisses?”

Zach groans loudly.  “One, that was terrible.  And two, show some respect, bitch.  What you see before you is pure Godiva.”

Zoe rolls her eyes at him, and Anton picks that exact moment to join the conversation in the most clueless way possible.  “Hey, I like Godiva!”

Zach snorts and mutters, “Everybody does.”

Zoe just claps a palm to her forehead.  “Anton, eat your waffles.”

Anton shoves a large chunk of Belgian waffle into his mouth and chews at both of them defiantly.

&&&

The ride back to Zoe’s is fairly sedate – after all, it’s 4 o’clock in the morning and five-sevenths of the car’s occupants are over the age of 30 and, despite Karl’s claims to the contrary, most of them aren’t used to staying out all night anymore.  Anton and Simon are the only two with excess amounts of energy to burn, so Zach had shoved the two of them into the back row.  Zoe sits shotgun and helps keep John awake at the wheel, so Chris, Zach, and Karl are once again crammed into a single row of seats.

Karl is out like a light against the window.  Chris had tried to mess with him a little, tickling his nose with a feather from Zach’s boa, but Karl had promptly smacked him square in the face without even opening his eyes, and though Chris won’t admit it, that stung like a bitch.  So now he sits slumped down in his seat, watching Zach stare at the lights going by out the window.

“You seem deep in thought,” Chris says quietly, lest he perturb the slumbering Karl.

“Not really,” Zach replies.  “Just thinking about old times – going to Rocky Horror with my friends in college.”

“Ah, so that’s where the costume came from.”

Zach chuckles.  “No, actually.  Back then, I always used to dress up as Brad.”

Chris snorts a little too loudly and quickly glances over at Karl to see if he’s heard.  He hasn’t, so Chris takes a moment to look over the Kiwi’s costume – the glasses are in his pocket now, but the white dress shirt, highwater trousers, and bowtie have stayed the same.  Then he looks back over at Zach and tries to imagine him in those clothes.  Quite frankly, it’s a stranger picture than Zach’s current get-up.

Zach must interpret the look on Chris’ face correctly, because he smiles and says, “Yeah, I was kind of a closet case back in the day.”

It’s really hard for Chris to imagine – Zach just always seems so comfortable in his own skin, and Chris had sort of assumed that he’d always been that way.  The look in Zach’s eyes is amused, but also a little vulnerable, and since the conversation has already taken a weird turn, Chris admits, “I’ve fooled around with guys before.”

He gets a textbook-perfect eyebrow raise in response.  “I had an inkling.”

“Sorry I never told you.”

Zach just shrugs.  “No worries.  I don’t think I ever sat you down and said ‘I’m gay’ either.”

Chris widens his eyes in faux shock.  “You’re…  You mean your ‘special friend’ Barrett was actually…?”

“Really _not_ that special,” Zach sighs.  “At least, not in his pants.”

“You whore,” Chris snorts.

“This coming from a man in a gold thong who recently lost his virginity by deep throating a candy bar.”

“That coming from a man in six-inch heels and a garter belt.”

“Shut it, bitch,” Zach says imperiously.  “I make this look _good_.”

He really does.

&&&

“I’ve got two guest rooms and the futon,” Zoe says, pushing sleepily through the front door and toward the hallway.  “You all can fight it out – just don’t wake me until noon.”

Before they can even discuss it, Anton is out cold on the futon and John yells “Dibs!” and grabs one of the guest rooms.

“The wife will be wanting me home before dawn,” Simon says with a grin.  “She always gets a bit randy when I drag out this old costume—”

“And I’m going to stop you right there,” says Karl, rubbing his eyes.

“You okay to drive, man?” Zach asks.

“Yeah, getting my second wind.  Or possibly third.  She’ll be right.”

“Just try not to drive off a cliff.”

“Do my best,” Karl says with a wave, holding the door open for Simon and then shutting it behind them.

Zach sighs tiredly and leans against the wall, lifting up each foot in turn to unbuckle his shoes.  His bare feet ache a little against the cool tile, and he pads down the hall to the only open door.  Chris emerges from the ensuite bathroom, having shed the bathrobe and thong for his boxers and undershirt.

“I guess you’re staying the night, then,” says Zach.

“Yeah.  You?”

“Might as well.  You mind if we bunk together?”

Chris rolls his eyes, but smiles.  “You gotta ask?”

“Hey, I’m learning all sorts of new things about you tonight.  How do I know you won’t feel me up in my sleep?”

“Aw, give me some credit here.  I promise to only feel you up when you’re awake.”

It’s a joke.  Just a joke, Zach reminds himself as he takes his turn in the bathroom.  The garter belt and the fishnets are the first to go before Zach starts working on the hot tranny mess that is his face.  Luckily, he finds some old makeup remover in the medicine cabinet, but it still takes a good amount of time and three hand towels before his face is clean.  Well, more like scrubbed raw, he thinks as he looks in the mirror.  He hadn’t expected to spend the night, and he’s sure as hell not sleeping in the tight jeans and Armani shirt he brought to wear home, so he ends up in nothing but his boxer briefs.  Chris will just have to deal.

But Chris is asleep when Zach gets out of the bathroom, already snoring lightly.  Zach’s side of the bed is turned down, though, and when he slides in, he’s pleased to note that Chris is just close enough to the middle of the bed for Zach to feel the warmth of his body as he drifts to sleep.

&&&

When Chris can’t ignore the morning light any longer, he yawns and throws his arms out into an almighty stretch – and punches Zach square in the jaw.

Zach snorts awake and flails for a moment, smacking Chris in the ribs.  “What the fu—?  Oh, hi, Chris.  Any particular reason you punched me awake?”

Laughing, Chris relaxes back on the pillow.  “Sorry, totally forgot where I was.”

“S’okay,” Zach says, shifting over on his side.  “I thought you were the dog at first.  Noah has been known to get aggressive if his bladder gets full enough.”

“Ooh, speaking of which,” Chris says, suddenly aware of his need to pee.  He scampers off to the bathroom, and he’s mid-stream before it hits him that he just woke up in a bed next to Zach.  And it wasn’t weird at all.  After washing his hands, he pries open the medicine cabinet.  A bottle of mouthwash – perfect.  He doesn’t know how old it is, but it hasn’t been opened, so he figures it’s safe.

When he returns to the bedroom, Chris is somewhat surprised to see that Zach hasn’t moved.  He stands there dumbly for a minute, until Zach mutters, “Come back to bed, darling, it’s still early.”

His only option, of course, is to take a running leap and land spread-eagle over Zach’s body.  Zach responds by digging his fingers into Chris’ ribs, which Zach had discovered long ago makes Chris squeak like a little girl.  Hard as Chris tries to fight back, he ends up flat on his back with Zach pinning him down.  “Better keep quiet,” Zach murmurs in his ear, his voice distressingly calm as he continues his tickling onslaught.  “You know how Zoe hates to be woken up.”

It’s true – Zoe, bless her lovely, delicate heart, is a cave troll in the mornings.  Chris tries to clamp his mouth shut, but all it does is make him wheeze.  “Zach, _stop_ , please!  Uncle, whatever!”

Zach finally stops, but he doesn’t roll off of Chris, who slowly relaxes the burning tension in his muscles and takes deep gasping breaths.

“Hmm,” says Zach, sniffing the air.  “Minty fresh.”

“Mouthwash in the bathroom,” Chris says between gasps.  “You might want to use some.  And by _might_ , I mean _dear god, please kill that stench_.”

“It’s not that bad,” Zach says with an eye roll, but he gets up and heads for the bathroom anyway.  Chris flings his arms and legs out on the bed, closing his eyes and feeling his heartbeat finally start to slow.  He should get up now, get dressed.  He really should.  He and Zach could go out for breakfast, dish about Simon’s weirdness, or Joe’s latest project, or… anything really.  But to do that, he’d have to get up.  Which he totally will.  In a minute.

He hears Zach pad back in from the bathroom and tenses, expecting Zach to return the flying tackle.  But all Zach does is shove one of Chris’ arms out of the way and lay down, pressed tightly against Chris’ side.  “This is nice,” Zach says, so quietly that Chris can barely hear him.  “I like this.”

“You cuddleslut,” Chris laughs, rolling over and throwing his arms around Zach, who burrows his nose into Chris’ neck and stays there.  Zach’s bare skin is warm under Chris’ hands, reminding him that Zach is practically naked.  It doesn’t bother him as much as it possibly should.

“Chris?”

“Mmm?”

“Mind if I say something really obvious?”

“Go for it.”

“You, uh, _servicing_ that candy bar last night,” Zach says with an audible gulp, “was really fucking hot.”

Chris laughs.  “Uh, thanks, I guess.”

“Don’t mention it.”  A long pause, Chris feeling the warmth of Zach’s breath against his neck and shoulder.  “Chris?”

“Zach?”

“Um…”

“Don’t tell me – you’re about to say your king-size candy bar needs to be serviced.”  The steady breath against Chris’ skin falters.  “Oh, shit, you _were_.”

“I wasn’t going to say ‘king-size.’”

“Bullshit.”

“It is, though.”

“You know I can move my hand about four inches to the left and check, right?”

“I’m a grower, not a shower.”

“That’s what they all say.”

They go oddly quiet after that, and neither makes a move to pull away.  Chris knows he can just leave it there.  He can give Zach a quick squeeze, suggest breakfast, and they’ll go on with their day and their week and their lives as usual.  But, hell, wearing nothing but a gold thong in public has made him brave.  “Zach?”

“Mmm?”

“I’ll do anything you want to your candy bar.”

Zach makes a huffy little noise.  “There’s a ‘melt in your mouth, not in your hand’ joke in here somewhere, I just can’t find it.”

“Zach?”

“Chris?”

“I’m serious.”

“You aren’t.”

“I am.”

Zach finally raises his head to look at Chris.  He’s got a tiny smudge of leftover mascara beneath each eye.  “It’s a terrible idea.”

“You suggested it.”

“I didn’t say I didn’t want it, I said it was a terrible idea.”

“Oh,” Chris says, stymied.  “So…”

“Probably not, like, _here_.  I make a lot of noise.”

Chris tries to pretend as though his mouth hasn’t suddenly gone dry.  “Zoe would kill us.  And John and Anton…”

“Mm-hmm.  Also I kind of want breakfast first.”

“Ever the romantic,” Chris says with a sigh.

Zach grins.  “We can do this, though.”  And then he bends down and presses his spearmint-flavored lips to Chris’.

Chris makes him work for it, maybe a little more than he should, but he keeps his own mouth closed and mostly still until Zach makes a quiet sound of frustration and pushes up on one elbow, cupping Chris’ jaw and licking softly at the seam of his lips.  Then he gives into it, letting Zach settle over him and lick into his mouth with a happy sigh.  Chris meets Zach’s tongue with his own, dueling playfully before nipping lightly at Zach’s lower lip.

Zach laughs breathlessly and gasps out, “Oh, _Rocky_.”

This time, in on the joke, Chris grunts happily and rolls them both over.

 

**Epilogue -- One Month Later**

“Shit, Zach, I can’t go out there like this!”

Zach gapes at him. “Seriously, Pine? _Seriously_? You’re going to start all that again? It’s really not cute.”

Chris groans and rolls his eyes. “Not the thong, you tool. I mean I can’t go out there like _this_.” He opens his robe, and _oh_. The massive erection.

“Apologies,” Zach says, reaching around him to pull the door shut. “That would… No, you cannot go out like that.”

“ _Well_ ,” Chris says pointedly.

“Well what?”

“Speaking of really not cute,” Chris growls and reaches up to shove down on Zach’s shoulders. It takes him a second to realize that Chris is trying to push him down to his knees – _trying_ being the operative word, as the shoes raise Zach’s center of gravity by about six inches and Chris’ forehead is starting to wrinkle with frustration. It’s really kind of… adorable.

“Rocky,” Zach says in his best deep Tim Curry voice, tilting Chris’ chin up with his forefinger. “Ask Frankie nicely.”

For a second, he’s worried that Chris is going to smack him or at least give his garter belt a good snap, but then Chris’ eyes go wide and puppyish and he gives a soft, pleading, Rocky-like grunt and Zach laughs as he carefully kneels, clutching the countertop for balance on the way down. John’s guest bathroom is much too small for this and everyone (sans Simon and Anton, sadly, but plus Eric) is waiting outside, but no sense in letting a good hard-on go to waste.

Pressed for time, Zach doesn’t bother to tease, just wraps his lips around the head of Chris’ dick and starts to suck. Chris moans softly and widens his stance a little, his hands coming up to rest in Zach’s hair but starting to wander. He tugs at the boa around Zach’s neck, running the soft feathers through his fingers.

Zach pulls off of him with a pop. “I can’t wash that. You are _not_ going to come on it.”

“Better swallow, then,” Chris says with a wink and Zach wonders why he ever thought Chris was terminally straight. But as Zach gets back to work, Chris gently pulls the length of the boa from Zach’s shoulders, looping it around his hands. He parts the robe a little wider and brings the feathered mass up to his chest, teasing at first one nipple then the other and, yeah, that’s kind of blazingly hot. Zach groans around Chris’ dick and reaches down to pull himself out of his black briefs. The floor is easily-cleanable tile; what John doesn’t know won’t hurt him.

When Chris spies what Zach’s doing, he moans a little too loudly and his hips twitch involuntarily. “Shit, Zach, that’s so hot. That’s it, jerk yourse— _ah_!”

Zach swirls his tongue again to shut Chris up – he’s close enough as it is, and he’s pretty sure that if there’s a lull in conversation outside the bathroom, everyone’s going to know exactly what his left hand is doing. So he redoubles his efforts, tonguing the slit of Chris’ cock and bringing his other hand up to lightly squeeze Chris’ balls, still trapped in the gold thong. Chris makes a choking, stuttered sound and comes, dropping the boa directly on Zach’s head, though it doesn’t stop Zach from swallowing each hot pulse (mostly to preserve his makeup), then coming all over his hand and the floor with a silent shudder.

Chris groans with relief and stumbles back against the sink, looking patently ridiculous with his robe flapping open and his cock still hanging out, but Zach’s not one to complain. Chris tosses him the hand towel from the rack, but luckily Zach manages to catch it – with his clean hand. “ _Tissues_ , Christopher. I don’t really want to explain to John why this has to go in the laundry immediately.”

With a grin, Chris takes back the towel, too lazily sated to object to Zach’s grumpy tone. Zach takes the proffered tissues and carefully cleans the floor before standing back up. To his utter embarrassment, Chris has to help him – no matter how sexy they are, six-inch heels aren’t forgiving of wobbly knees.

Zach flushes the tissues and turns back around in time to see Chris gingerly tucking himself back in the thong. He’s not hard anymore, but his cock is still noticeably swollen, and Zach feels a little spike of jealousy at the thought that somebody just might notice. Chris notices all that noticing and reties the robe around himself, then strides up to Zach for a deep, wet kiss, coming up on his tiptoes and melting against Zach’s body.

They’re interrupted by a loud banging on the door and an Aussie-accented “Are you fucking done in there?”

Then, from further away, Zoe’s voice: “ _I think the better question would be whether they’re done fucking in there_ ,” followed by much whooping and hollering from the peanut gallery and a loud groan from John.

They sheepishly exit the bathroom to chants of “Frank and Rocky, rah rah rah!”

**Author's Note:**

> Take a look at the AMAZING art deliciousny drew for this fic [. Warning: you may want to sit down first. Also, probably borderline NSFW.](http://the-deep-magic.livejournal.com/79586.html#cutid1>here</a>)


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